Posts Tagged ‘Narcotics’

Dancing Flamenco in Seville

Dancing Flamenco in Seville

From London, we went on to Germany where Walter picked me up a Mercedes Benz that he had ordered. They delivered it to our hotel door in Frankfurt. It had a sunroof, four doors and was jet black. I never did care too much about cars so I didn’t know the price, nor did I care to know. After we came back from the teatro (theatre), there in our room were two very sexy women.  To hear the rest you will have to buy the book!

From Frankfurt we drove to go skiing on high mountain in the German Alps, from there you can see five mountain peaks from the top of one of the tallest mountains in Europe. After that we went back to Munich, where Walter arranged to ship the car over to Venezuela. We proceeded by train to France. In Paris we stayed at an old fashioned boutique hotel, almost like a private house. Of course we had dinner at the top of the Eiffel tower, then went to Lido in the heart of Paris. The next day it was the Louvre, and it was then that I decided I was not going back with Walter to Venezuela after all. I wanted to stay in Europe, go to Madrid for a job offer with a designer Rosina, and this was my big chance!

So I left Paris, arriving very early in the morning. I didn’t know where to go or where to stay, but I found a motel thanks to the pilot of the plane. In those days you could talk to them on the flight. We went from the airport for breakfast, but nada de nada (nothing) was open until ten in the morning. Then I found Rosina famous Creations Boutique, and I went in. I was hired on the spot to work almost immediately!  Somebody said “put this dress on please, and call Africa (another house model) to help her out.” They hired me to go on tour all through Spain, on high fashion runway shows. We traveled through Leon, Castilla la Vieja, Cordoba, and Seville where I danced the night away learning Flamenco on the caves of the gypsies. We went back to Madrid where Africa and I began to know each other. She took me everywhere for tapas and aperitifs at the outdoor cafes, under the cinzano umbrellas where Hemingway and Picasso and other fabulous artists had been.

One day Africa had a surprise for me! By now we were very good friends and she knew about my dreams and disappointments. We went to this fantastic bar where all the movie stars went– like Carmen Sevilla and Sarita Montiel– and as we had our drinks in our hands, in walks Jorge Mistral himself! I almost fell off the bar stool, then Africa’s boyfriend Manolo introduced us. Jorge took my hand and didn’t let go, plastering it with long passionate kisses. I was 18 years of age then, but when I was in boarding school at the age of 13, I had dreamed of him. Now here he was, en carne y huesos (in flesh and bones) right in front of me. I was shivering with anticipation to hear him speak, his voice was so sexy, at the same soft and full of life.

We all had lots of drinks and fun, then as we were leaving he invites every one of his friends in the bar to go for Easter weekend, which was the following weekend to his home in Alicante, especially instructing Africa and her boyfriend Manolo to make sure to bring me. He had to finish shooting a film before Easter.

Little did I know at the time that his girlfriend, Carmen Sevilla, would be furious with me, since he did not go with her and stayed with me in Alicante the whole weekend. At night when the rest did leave us alone, we lay on the carpet and listened to his voice recordings, the poems of love by Garcia Lorca and many other famous poets. It seemed strange that he went to the bathroom many times, but he never mentioned or offered me any drugs. I presume he was on coke all the night while we were just talking and enjoying being together. The cocaine was not necessary for me, I was on cloud 9 and just being there with him was enough. I was still very gullible and did not understand what addiction was.

Working in Spain was fantastic: dancing in the flamenco caves, drinking in taverns, and listening to the gypsies sing and play. People would ask me,”Where are your from?” to which I responded, “soy Rusa, no andaluza, de Andalucía.” The two sounded similar, and in some ways they were not wrong. I sure felt like a gypsy.


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